


Demons

by infinitely_perpetually



Category: Walking Dead RPF
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, angst and ... well yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitely_perpetually/pseuds/infinitely_perpetually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has their demons. What happens when they collide?</p>
<p>--<br/>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are based on real people, but they are strictly fictional. The events depicted have not occurred. I adore these human beings and mean no offense to anybody named in this work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> So this is rather different from my other McReedus, which has been taunting me but staying just out of reach. In the meantime, this little number popped into my head, and I promptly shelved it and decided to let it die. I owe kaoscraze82 a huge debt of gratitude for her gentle prodding and convincing me to bring it back to life. Thanks as always to Ravenesque for beta-ing and to liddym2113 for taking a read-through early on and giving me extra confidence.

The mile-long legs beneath the beckoning shimmer of a dress slinked off and his smile faded almost instantly in their wake. He didn't even turn to watch the woman walk away, a questionable habit she'd grown accustomed to seeing since they'd started working together. Instead, he absentmindedly rubbed the lipstick stain from his cheek, eyes flicking around, scanning the room.

Melissa leaned against the wall behind her as she watched him, taking advantage of the lull as her conversation partner was distracted by the model strutting to the door as though she were still on the catwalk. Norman's eyes met hers and paused, then a thoughtful blink and they moved on, taking in the rest of the scene.

Something was off.

Things were winding down. Finally. Her bra chafed and she was ready to be rid of this formal attire, ready to trade her dress and heels for soft pajamas and a comfy pillow. She'd promised him she'd be there, and the night was fun, but she'd grown weary of small talk an hour ago. Maybe she should have had a drink after all. Maybe her instincts were wrong, but she'd kept a clear head and her glass full of sparkling water just in case.

The mood of the room continued shifting, and more and more guests trickled out the door, headed to livelier parties or clubs or loved ones waiting at home. Hugs and talk of brunch or drinks surrounded her. Camera phones surrounded him, last-minute requests for a pic to post online. The catering staff was dismissed and she smiled and waved at the last guest to make his way out after them, a newly successful art broker who'd flirted shamelessly with her earlier, making her feel 25 again.

Norman shrugged off his jacket and removed his cufflinks, rolling his shirtsleeves to the elbow. She studied him silently as he slumped back onto the couch, rubbing his face with both hands before he reached for the scotch on the small side table.

"Okay. Spill," she said, dropping into the chair across from him. "Your thoughts, not the scotch. That stuff looks like it costs a bit more than a penny."

"Gift for hosting the party," he replied, smiling despite whatever else might have been on his mind. The party. The reason she was here in New York, sitting in his living room. An artist friend of his had been honored with a prestigious award, and he'd offered to host a small celebration at his apartment. It was a black-tie affair, filled with Very Important People, at least in their own minds, from the New York art scene. He was newly single, she was taking a break from appearances after filming wrapped, and so he'd asked her to do him the favor of being his date that evening. The gathering had been an overwhelming success, garnering him some connections in a world where he sometimes struggled to fit in with people who considered television a form of entertainment for the unwashed masses. It made his demeanor tonight all the more puzzling.

"Some for you?" he asked, ready to pour out a second glass.

"I'll just share yours," she said, kicking off her heels. It's not like she had anywhere to go but the guest room, and sharing would keep her in check. Melissa turned sideways in the chair, leaning back against one arm and settling her legs over the other. She flexed her toes while he poured, shaking off the constraint of the heels. "Plying me with alcohol won't get you out of talking, you know. That trick only works once."

The muscle in his jaw flexed as it tightened, showing he knew exactly the  _once_  she was talking about. "We'll see," he said, handing her the tumbler. He leaned back on the couch again, loosening his tie and the top buttons of his shirt, and watched her take a sip.

The scotch was warm and mellow on her tongue, nothing like the cheap whiskey they'd been drinking that once. It was back in the early days, back when the threat of cancellation loomed and they figured they'd be killed off at any time anyway. Neither of them could afford the spirits in the glass she was holding now.

Something was off then, too, but every time she'd asked him to talk about it, he'd refilled her glass, saying, "Maybe after this one." One turned into one too many and she'd given up. Whatever demons haunted him would stay his alone.

She'd let him off the hook, prepping the couch for him to crash on, and nearly did some crashing of her own when she turned the corner to the kitchen and ran squarely into his chest. The collision turned into a laughing hug that faded into a silent embrace, and then something she couldn't quite describe. All she knew was he was pressed against her while she was pressed against the wall, his stubbled cheek softly scratching hers and the hint of his breath on her neck more intoxicating than the alcohol she'd consumed. Neither seemed to want to let go, yet neither dared to make a move, being in relationships with other people.

The seconds ticked away and her fingers held a white-knuckled grip on the back of his shirt, her pulse racing faster than her mind, acutely aware that they were too close to an uncrossable line. So when she felt his lips graze dangerously close to hers, felt herself begin to move in slow rhythm with him, felt him grow hard against her, she panicked and pushed him away, running to her bedroom and locking the door behind her. He didn't knock. Didn't call out for her. The next morning he was gone, the blankets on the couch untouched, and they never spoke of it again.

"You're not running away this time?" His voice was husky now, eyes flinty and narrowed. Her heart sank with the thought he may be angry with her.

"You know why I did. I didn't handle it well and I'm sorry for that," she said. "But we couldn't."

"I know."

His eyes held hers as though he wanted to say more, then dropped to the floor. He ran a hand along the back of his neck, working the tired muscles there for a few seconds before eyeing her again. "Why'd you even bring that up?"

A pang of guilt hit her chest with the realization that he wasn't angry at all. That even though rejecting him was the right thing to do, she'd hurt him then, and dredging it all up again was hurting him now.

"This black cloud hanging over you tonight… it's the only other time I've seen it. I was hoping to help. You know what they say about good intentions, though."

"Best way to help me is to share that scotch."

"Somehow I doubt that," she replied, but rose from the chair to return the glass to him, taking another long sip as she did. The heat of it spread downward, past her throat, slowly burning its way through her. Her stomach grew warm, almost as warm as her outer thigh when his hand settled on the bare skin just above her knee. She looked down at him, staring right back up at her with those same narrowed eyes as earlier.

"Moving on to other vices, then?" she challenged, calling him on his typical pattern of escape from whatever was bothering him. Booze or women. Or both.

He didn't flinch. "If you say yes."

"We can't," she said, her habitual answer to his jovial, near-daily come-ons rolling off her tongue without a second thought.

"We can."

His other hand grazed her, both inching slowly upward under the hem of her dress. He never tore his eyes away from hers, sparking another kind of heat in her she'd kept at bay for years. She wasn't sure why she wasn't pushing him away now, too, aside from the fact that he had a point. It was the first time they'd both been free and clear to do whatever they wanted. And if her own demons had anything to say about what she wanted, he'd been top of the list for quite a while. The scotch hadn't completely freed them yet, though.

"Will you tell me what's going on with you?" she asked, placing the glass on the side table.

"Maybe after we fuck." Her breath hitched at his audacity, eye widening in surprise as his hands climbed higher. His expression bordered on predatory, and her body responded in a way that was anything but healthy, considering she was worried about him, worried about whatever was going on behind those eyes that wouldn't let hers go. It struck her that perhaps she should be more worried about the dangerous lack of self-control she was demonstrating by not stepping away, but she lost the thread of that thought when his fingers squeezed slightly before inching further under her skirt.

"If I say no?" she asked. The small bit of common sense she wasn't ignoring hoped the question was enough to make him release her.

"You say no and I'll stop. Perfectly good bottle of scotch over there I can drink instead." His hands slid higher. She could barely breathe.

"It won't fix anything," she shook her head. "I can't fix you."

"Not asking you to," he replied. His head tilted almost imperceptibly. "I can't fix you, either."

Fix her? She was the one that was pulled together, whose life was in order. The one who was responsible and could be counted on and did the right thing. The one whose demons were in check. Who would take control of this situation before it went any further. Who wouldn't even entertain the notion because they were friends. Good friends. Good friends who were both well aware of what this relationship was and what it wasn't. Good friends who flirted. And kissed. And touched.

Good friends who had both noticed that she hadn't stepped away, or taken control, or even taken a calm breath since his palms started sliding along her skin.

"Okay. As long as we're clear," she said.

"Okay we understand each other or okay yes?"

She swallowed hard. His hands were at her hips now, teasing at the lace hemming her silk underwear and all she could think about was slipping into the darkness with him.

_Keep a level head, Melissa. Say no._

His thumb glided along the crook where her hip met her leg. Closer, closer. She closed her eyes, anticipating the inevitable, but he stopped short, waiting for her answer.

The debate between logic and desire raged in her mind. All she had to do was say no. One simple word and she could go back to talking and figuring out whatever it was that was bothering him. She startled as his hands drifted slowly back down her legs.

"I'll take that as a no."

Her skin blazed along the trail he'd made, her body betraying her as it ached for the lost contact of his retreating hands. The thought of him touching her that way made her flush from head to toe and she reached down, stopping him before he could pull away completely. She opened her eyes and stared down into his, saw his demons dancing in the sparks behind them. And then her own broke free.

"Yes."

He reached back up, hooking his fingers around the silk material and sliding it down, helping her step clear.

"Not wasting any time," she said breathlessly.

"I plan on wasting plenty once you're naked," he responded matter-of-factly. "Need help with that dress?"

She blinked back her surprise at his reply, but he calmly held her eyes again.

"I've got it," she managed to say, reaching for her side zipper and letting the eveningwear fall to the floor. He didn't wait for her to remove her bra before his hands slipped behind her, pulling her to him. The warmth of his mouth met the warmth of the scotch in her stomach, his lips and tongue teasing along her abdomen as his hands explored the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her ass. She freed herself from her bra and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"What about you?" she asked. She was completely exposed. He was still wearing everything but his jacket.

"We'll get there," he answered, guiding her knee to the couch and slowly lifting the other, sliding her thigh over his shoulder. "Eventually."

She gasped as he moved her, off-balance both physically and mentally, but he steadied her and placed her hand on his other shoulder. He kissed his way along the inside of her thigh, pausing just long enough to look up at her and gauge her reaction as his tongue probed her folds.

Her back arched and she clenched his shoulder, heard herself cry his name. He found her clit and ghosted his tongue over it, stealing any other words she might have issued before they had fully formed in her brain. He ran his tongue lightly over her again and she grasped his head with her free hand, encouraging him to continue. In other circumstances it would have been too much, too soon, but the heat he'd generated with his brazen shamelessness had her on the edge. His tongue flicked in fast, feathery lashes and then slowed to an aching pace as he circled and stroked her most sensitive spot. His fingertip teased at her entrance, slipping barely inside before withdrawing, making her whimper as he teased her again, and again, until she pled with him for more. The pleasure rushed through her as he slid his finger inside.

Her soft moan was drowned out by another, louder noise. Her eyes flew open in confusion and Norman stopped, aware and listening. The doorbell echoed through the apartment again.

"Hell no," he said, ignoring the bell and moving to pick up where he left off. Four steady knocks stopped him again.

He looked up at her, frustratedly shaking his head. "Lemme get rid of 'em."

She began to object but four more knocks convinced her to let him take care of the interruption. They disentangled and he strode quickly toward the door as she grabbed her clothes and ducked further around the corner of the wall, out of sight of whoever the persistent visitor may be.

A somewhat familiar voice reached her and after a few seconds she placed it.

"I'm so sorry to bother you this late, but I saw your light was on," the art broker she'd been flirting with earlier that evening explained. "I'm afraid I've left my scarf and it's rather frigid out there."

"Your scarf?" Norman replied far more hospitably than she'd envisioned from the look on his face as he'd rounded the corner toward the door. "Ummm."

She heard the hall closet open and some rummaging, then Norman's muffled voice again. "Oh yeah. This must be it."

"Thank you. And please give Melissa my best. Ehh, I thought she was staying here?"

"Mel? Yeah, she already called it a night," Norman answered.

"Oh, pity. I was rather hoping to see her," the broker said.

"Guess you'll just have to watch the show."

"Shame I didn't get her number," the broker said, clearly disappointed.

"Yeah, a shame… but at least you have your scarf," Norman prodded, the expectation in his voice coming across loud and clear.

"Yes, yes. Thank you again. Have a good night," the broker finally shuffled out the door.

"Will do," Norman replied with certainty.

Melissa peeked around the corner after the latch clicked, stunned at the terribly crafted ploy to see her again.

"Someone's got a crush," Norman said, yanking his tie off and tossing it on the couch.

"I guess so," she answered, unsure of his reaction as he kicked his shoes off. She couldn't read him, even though she'd always been able to before. "Are you… are you jealous?" she asked hesitantly.

He pulled her against him, his mouth brushing hers, teeth lightly tugging her bottom lip before he moved to her throat, sending little shivers through her as he worked his way across her neck.

"Are you naked in his apartment right now?" he whispered against her ear.

"Point taken," she rasped, grasping his shirt as the back of his hand trailed over her shoulder and along the outer curve of her breast.

"I haven't started making my point yet," he whispered again as he cupped her, catching the hardened peak of her nipple between his thumb and finger.

She attacked his mouth with hers, savoring the sensations coursing through her as she tugged at his shirt. It pulled free and she deftly worked her way through the buttons. His tongue swept across hers until he tore himself away to shrug it off completely, quickly followed by his undershirt.

"You need to catch up," she said breathlessly. He stared at her with that same, narrowed stare he'd had earlier.

"Told you… eventually."

He hauled her to him again, lips teasing at hers, denying her the satisfaction of a full kiss as he maneuvered her in a semicircle and backed her against the wall. When her back hit the cool surface his mouth crashed against hers and she took the kiss she'd been denied. His tongue vied with hers, fueling the intensity between them until he broke away, breathing hotly against the crook of her shoulder while his hands ran up and down her body. He took in every dip, every peak. A thin sheen of sweat covered her and he bent down, licking his way past her collarbone. His mouth surrounded her nipple and he sucked, swirling his tongue as he did. She instinctively pushed herself against him, fingernails digging into his shoulder with one hand while the other wound through his hair, coaxing him to suck harder.

His fingers glided down her side, over her hip, then swept forward, nudging between her thighs. He slid easily along her slickness, teasing at her clit before pushing two fingers inside her. She bucked against his hand, murmured curses falling from her lips, losing herself in the waves rolling over her. His fingers curved, working along that spot inside her core that made her shake. He pulled his mouth away from her and watched her face as his thumb traced her clit, fingers maintaining a steady pace.

"Look at me, Mel. Please," he whispered.

She did as he asked, forcing herself to keep her eyes open as she writhed against his hand.

"Do you want me?" he asked. His expression was controlled, but the predatory edge to it was gone.

"Yes," she answered.

"Say it. Say the words." He slowed the rhythm of his fingers, watching her intently as he waited for her to respond, spiking her desire, her need to have him. All of him.

"I want you," she whispered. He searched her eyes, seemingly not believing her. The mistrust was unfamiliar, but so was this entire situation. She reached for him, tracing his temple, his cheekbone, down to his jaw. She gently placed her other hand on his, stopping him, forcing him to focus entirely on her face. "I want you," she repeated.

He leaned in and kissed her as he withdrew his hand, and she relished the feel of his body, pressed against her not unlike that night she'd run from him. His hard chest crushed against her soft curves, trapping her against the wall. This time she was running to him, and it almost hurt to let him go as he moved away from her, digging in the drawer of the side table and handing her a foil square.

She opened the wrapper as he took off the rest of his clothes, never taking her eyes off him. It wasn't his body that had her mesmerized, beautiful as it was. It was way he moved. Deliberate. Unhurried. Assured, but with no hint of arrogance or a need to prove something. When he finished undressing, he leaned against her again, kissing her lightly, running his fingers along her jaw to her neck, her shoulder, down her arm. She couldn't help but think he fit her perfectly, skin to skin, bodies in sync with each other, no need for words.

His hand slipped into hers, taking the protection from her, slipping it on. He lifted her leg and she wrapped it around him, feeling him bend and align himself. He leaned his forehead against hers as he entered her slowly, her breath hitching as he started to fill her. He retreated, then pushed further, letting her get used to him gradually. When he finally pushed himself in completely he paused, tilting her chin upward and kissing her again.

Her lips parted, inviting his tongue into her mouth, and she felt him move languidly inside her. Each stroke sent shivers through her, making her want to be even closer to him. She clung to him, holding him tightly, moving with his rhythm in its infinite, hypnotizing slowness.

He pulled away slightly, drawing her out of her reverie. "Keep holding on," he told her. She nodded and he bent slightly again, hooking his arm around her other leg and lifting her off the floor completely. She wrapped it around him, encircling him as he took complete control of their movement. Her hands wound into his hair again and she kissed him as she fell back into the pleasure he was giving her.

Her nails scraped gingerly at his neck, then deeper as her hands travelled down his back. The first pulse of tension fluttered deep within her and she moaned into his mouth. He responded by thrusting slightly harder, making the tension build more rapidly. She turned her head, unable to kiss him as her breath came in fast, ragged gasps. He sped up, urging her onward until the pressure building inside her sparked and exploded. Her body clenched against him as the spasms erupted, ecstasy washing through her, making her quiver in its wake.

He waited until her body calmed and then kissed her again. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered when their lips parted. She opened her eyes and saw a sadness creeping into his that she didn't understand.

"Norman?" she asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her neck, avoiding her eyes, thrusting into her again, harder than before. She gasped at the shock of it, how it stoked her desire and made her crave him all over again. He pushed hard into her once more and her body responded, gripping him tighter. His pace increased and she heard him breathing harder, felt his skin begin to slick with sweat. She licked the salt from his neck, nipping lightly at his earlobe, his shoulder, losing herself all over again to this new, more intense rhythm.

"I waited," he said, panting against her neck as he drove into her.

"What?" she asked. Confusion mixed with sensations he was stirring in her.

"That night. I waited. I sat in your hallway all night and waited for you to open that fucking door." He thrust into her again, moving her up the wall with the force of it, sending ripples of pleasure through her while her heart ached with his words.

"Norm…. I… I didn't know," she said.

"I wanted to explain. Tell you what was wrong. Tell you everything," he slammed into her again. Tears sprung to her eyes from the revelation.

"Tell me what?" she asked. "Norman, please."

He pushed into her again, driven by his demons, each stroke tinged with emotion he couldn't seem to control anymore. She tried shutting out the physical, to focus on his words, but she was responding to his momentum and the force of him moving inside her.

"I knew it then. Just like I know now," the words were choppy, uttered between thrusts, but he kept going. "The truth."

He pulled back and looked at her again. "Fuck, Mel. Why do you have to be like… like you?"

"Like me?" she couldn't grasp his meaning, and then he didn't give her the chance to try as he pumped into her as hard and fast as he could, driving her past reason and making her body explode against his a second time. He shuddered just as she started to calm, burying his face in her neck with a groan as he came. She held him there, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, and felt him start to regain himself.

"Please tell me what's going on," she prodded gently.

"Okay," he whispered, supporting her as she began to unwrap herself from him. He pulled out of her when she was steady and stepped away. She watched as he cleaned up after himself, turning back toward her when he was done and taking her hand in his.

"Come to bed," he said.

She hesitated. They didn't need another round. They needed to get things out in the open.

"I'll talk. I promise."

He led her to his bedroom, dragging the covers back for her and sliding next to her once she was settled. He lay on his stomach next to her on her back, tracing his way down her arm with the back of his fingers. His eyes wouldn't meet hers, staring at her hand instead as he took it in his and brushed his thumb lightly across her wrist.

"Guess it was my turn to handle things badly," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't plan on taking a trip down memory lane tonight."

"Well, I'm the one that brought it up," she said. "I never meant to hurt you, you know."

"I know." He couldn't seem to find more words than that, lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles. She waited for him to speak again, but he held her hand to his lips while his eyes darted to hers and then away again.

"What did you mean earlier? About me being like me?" she gently coaxed.

He took in a slow breath before speaking.

"I didn't mean it like... I just... seeing you tonight, talking to what's his name, you looked so…" he paused, struggling for the right words. "… so damn  _happy_."

Melissa didn't realize he'd even noticed that particular conversation from earlier in the evening, but even though he had, she was confused at the implication her happiness would cause him such torment. She let him continue, hoping the explanation would become clearer.

"You… I hadn't seen you like that in long time. All lit up like that."

"It was just a conversation. That's all," she said.

"A conversation that made you blush," he countered, a bit of pink creeping into his own cheeks as he said it.

"Yes, it did," she said. She wasn't going to apologize for flirting and enjoying the attention. "Everyone wants to feel desirable now and then, Norm. I'm no exception. Neither are you."

"No, I-I didn't mean it like that. I'm not saying you shouldn't. You should. I want you to, but seeing you like that… with him. That's the kind of guy you belong with. Not someone…" he trailed off. His eyes finally met hers and she saw the anguish there, the rejection, revealing some of the bigger picture.

"Not someone what?" she asked.

He shrugged and lowered his head, beginning to shut down, but she was determined to clear the air. She slipped her hand from his and tilted his chin toward her face, making him look at her.

"Don't do that. Not someone what?" she repeated.

"Broken."

It took all her strength to hold it together, to rein in the heartbreak she felt when he said it and focus on being the friend he needed her to be. She'd always known he had secrets and a self-destructive streak that burned hotter than the Georgia sun, but he was so much more than that. More than the demons inked on his shoulder that he thought somehow defined him.

She brushed his hair off his forehead. "You're not broken."

He swallowed hard and looked away, then back at her again. "You don't know what goes on in my head. You wouldn't like it. I don't. And then I do things like this… tonight. Push boundaries."

"We all have darkness in us. It's part of being human. If I didn't have my own demons, I'd be asleep in your guest room right now."

She watched his expression change from incredulous to begrudging acceptance as she spoke, the last line making a dent in his reasoning.

"But this wasn't something you normally do. For me, it's just another weekend. You deserve better than that. You want someone better than that. You've made that clear and I get it."

"What are you talking about? What have I made clear?" she asked.

"Well, you ran away and locked your door. That was a pretty clear message."

"I didn't run away because of you. I did it because of them. Because too many people would have gotten hurt if I hadn't." She winced at the next thought that popped into her head. "Seems like I hurt everyone anyway."

"I'm the one who fucked up," he countered.

"No. We both did. I'm as much to blame as you are. Maybe more."

"How on earth would you be more to blame?" he asked.

"Because I wouldn't let myself admit the truth before that. What happened… it made me face it. I didn't love him. Not like that," she confessed. "I ended it the next day. I didn't mean to hurt him, but I did. And I hurt you."

"You weren't the only one who hurt people. Besides, I needed to know that… where I stood."

Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he meant. "Where you stood?"

"Yeah. That you didn't want to be with me."

"I swear your selective hearing is worse than Linc's," she shook her head in disbelief.

"Huh?"

"Weren't you listening? I didn't push you away because I didn't want to be with you. I pushed you away because I  _did_. You weren't the only one who waited that night. I cried myself to sleep staring at that door, knowing that if you knocked, I'd open it and let you into my bed."

The look on his face was the last thing she'd expected. It wasn't understanding, or relief, or even surprise. He looked crushed. Absolutely, thoroughly devastated.

"I didn't just want to be in your bed, Mel."

"That's not what I… I meant…"

The black cloud was gathering over him again, darkening his features. "You don't need to explain. I know you don't love me.  _Not like that_." He made the impact he'd intended, jagged and cutting as he threw her words back at her. The demons didn't care to release him so easily, but she would be damned if she wasn't going to give them a hell of a fight.

"No, I don't. But you don't love me, either. Not like that."

His eyes widened in surprise. "How can you say that?"

"Because you think you know me, but you don't. You have this idealized version of me in your head. Something your dark side made up to tell you that you're not good enough, that you don't deserve to be happy. The person you think you're in love with… she doesn't exist."

He opened his mouth to argue.

"Shut up. I'm not done," she cut him off with a whisper before he made a sound. "I don't know you, either. From the moment we met, we've been with other people. I couldn't let myself go there, not if I wanted to survive working with you, being your friend. Love isn't about how wonderful people are. It's about recognizing their flaws and their boring day-to-day lives and knowing you want to share everything with them anyway. That it's  _all_  you want. So until we see each other for who we really are, no. No, we don't love each other.  _Not like that_."

He stared at her in stunned silence while she caught her breath. Her tirade hadn't chased the cloud away, but she could see the wheels turning in his head. Arguments coming and going as he fought his internal battle. She felt her own mind trying to argue with her as well. That maybe the wall she'd constructed to keep herself safe from him wasn't as solid as she'd claimed. She turned her fury on her own demons and they fled, leaving her with a single thought as they disappeared into the night.

"And what the actual fuck, Norman? I don't know who I'll end up with in the long run, but please, you think I should be with a guy like what's his name? What kind of monster are you? You really think-" she spit the next words at him, "-  _scarf guy -_  is the kind of man I deserve?" She held her disgusted expression for an impressive amount of time before the smirk twitched at the corner of her mouth.

He saw her start to crack and the cloud vanished as he lost it right along with her. "God, no," he laughed and his body relaxed against hers. He let the last of the laughter pass and then leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I'm an ass. I'm sorry."

"I am, too," she said, then quickly added, "Sorry, that is. Not an ass… most of the time."

"Nah, you're not."

She raised an eyebrow at him and he understood the message faster than she'd anticipated. "Okay,  _sometimes_  you are. Idealized Mel does not exist." His smile was tinged with melancholy as he conceded her point.

"I get it," he nodded as he looked away. "I didn't want to, but I do."

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he shifted, resting his head on her stomach. He trailed his hand lazily along her abdomen for a minute before lifting his head to look at her.

"You think maybe someday we'll figure all this out? Fall in love for real?" he asked. His eyes didn't hold back, reflecting a complete lack of caution as he opened himself up to her with the question. Moments like this, the ones where the quiet vulnerability stretched between them and held them together with such power she could almost feel the air vibrate… these were the moments she'd asked herself the same question. A question she hadn't let herself answer until now.

"I think maybe we could," she said.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe."

He laid his head back down on her, continuing to trace along her skin as they lay in comfortable silence. Gradually his fingers slowed, coming to rest over her hip. His breathing evened into a regular, quiet pattern.

Melissa looked out the window at the city. The sun had just begun to edge into the night sky, tinting the horizon in pale blue and gold as it scattered the darkness. She glanced down at Norman, his chest rising and falling as he slept, then looked back out at the brightening sky with the slightest smile gracing her face.

Anything was possible.


End file.
